


with love, sincerely yours

by starrytemptations



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien/Chat Noir lost in battle, F/M, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrytemptations/pseuds/starrytemptations
Summary: it is easy to mistake their comfort and desire for love, but they are too broken, too full of loss, for that right now. It is true they resemble a couple making love, and perhaps they are, but there is something else behind each movement, something that has perhaps been building for a long while now.





	with love, sincerely yours

**Author's Note:**

> i'll have to admit i had no plans to write this today, rather i woke up this morning and immediately started writing the first thing that came to mind. that being said, i hope you all like it

It starts because they are lonely.

She misses her partner; he misses his wife. Nothing in this would could bring either of them back, and for that they mourn. 

It starts one autumn evening, when they cross paths at their gravestones. 

She is crying and he wants to blame her, but he knows he cannot do so without blaming himself even more so than he had before.

It starts with an invitation, a ride back to the manor so neither have to spend the evening alone again.

They are silent on the way back, her playing with the skirt of her dress and him feigning busywork on his tablet. 

It starts with two glasses of red wine, two for each of them that is.

There are no more pictures, no more painful reminders of what he has lost. They stand in front of a wall, desperately missing several portraits they knew to be there before. 

His hands shake more than he’d like as he takes a drink, and her eyes follow the movement.

It starts with a chaste kiss, the taste of her wine sweet and her sweeter.

She is the one who steps closer, the one who seeks comfort first. He does not blame her; she is younger, these emotions are more raw, painfully so, for her. He has grown accustomed to the loss and loneliness. 

Yet, not so much he pushes away even the smallest bit of comfort, especially so soon after his second mourning.

He bends to kiss her, to take her soft heart-shaped face in his hands, and she sighs. 

The noise goes straight to his heart, making it come alive after years of being unused, and he tugs her closer to him, his fingers pressing deeply into her waist.

Her hands, gentle and determined, slink their way up his arms, over his shoulders, to the back base of his head where they weave into the hair there. She pulls, and an earthy groan leaves him. 

It has been far too long.

He kisses her more deeply as he bends further, his hands finding the back of her thighs moments before he lifts her up, and she wraps around his waist, her dress bunched up, her shoes clattering down to the marble they stood on.

He is losing composure fast, and his long legs swiftly carry them to the bedroom. He kicks the door behind them, her small hands fumbling to unbutton his shirt.

He presses her against the cool fabric of his comforter, his hips grinding into hers, and he swallows the weak whimper she lets out. 

He has grown painfully hard, and she is panting beneath him, her hips rolling to meet his pace. 

He wants her so desperately, and his heart beats painfully with excitement and fear, but he will not ruin her, not unless it is what she desires as well.

“Are you sure?” It is the first time any of them have spoken since their encounter at the cemetery, and he chastises himself for sounding so raspy, so far gone from a kiss as if he was a teenager once more. “There is no turning back after this, you must know.”

She licks her lips, swollen and red, and he fights the urge to devour her any more.

“I’m sure,” she tells him, and he near groans when he hears how wrecked she is for him, because of him. “I need this, and...so do you.”

She is right, and he moves to bury his face in the crook between her head and shoulder, his lips ghosting over her skin. She shudders beneath him and he presses himself against her even more, making sure she feels the effect she has on him.

He pulls up her dress, bunching it up at her waist, and he finally senses just how wet she is from his touch. It makes his heart race faster as he presses the pads of his fingers ever so gently against her heat, the thin wet fabric between them doing little to dull the sensation.

She arches her back, a whine leaving her deliciously red lips, and he silences her with another kiss. Her nails graze against the skin just beneath the collar of his shirt, the first few buttons undone, and at the same time she slips her hand over his shoulder, to the hot skin of his back, he pushes the fabric of her underwear to the side and inserts a single finger. 

She spreads one leg further apart, rolling against his hand as he pumps that one digit in and out of her painstakingly slow. She is so wonderfully wet for him, making it that much easier to slip a second finger into her. He begins a scissoring motion, slow and caressing as he opens her up. 

The sounds she makes are soft and delightful,  each one a bit higher than the last. Before she can reach her highest peak however, he pulls back and she whines in frustration. 

“Patience,” he tells her, pressing his lips against hers. “You shall get what you want soon.”

He licks his fingers, savoring the sweet sensation, and he thinks that next time, he will have to taste her more. 

(His heart thumps at the idea of a next time.)

He undoes his belt, sliding off the confines of his pants and undergarments. She does the same, shifting slightly to remove her embarrassingly soaked underwear and undo the class of her bra. They toss their clothes to the side, still partially dressed - her naked under her dress and him in his partially unbuttoned shirt - as they meet again, her fingers weaving into his hair as she slides her tongue alongside his.

He grips his erection, rubbing the tip of it against her soaking folds, just barely breaching the surface of her. She moans, bucking her hips up into him as she silently pleads for him already. 

He wastes no more time, his desire overtaking him, and he pushes into her, inch by inch.

Her legs wrap around his waist, insuring he stayed right where she wanted him. 

She is so hot, so wet, so damn good. It takes him a tremendous amount of will to not immediately pound into her, to fuck her so hard and fast she forgets her name. There will be time for that later.

She rolls her hips, telling him to move, and he closes his eyes as he does, pulling back as much as her legs will allow him before he slams back into her, and she moans into his mouth.

His movements gradually become steady, slow and brutal but there is a pattern now.

He removes her hands from his hair and presses them against the mattress, his fingers intertwining with hers. The gesture is sweet and slow, much like the thrust of his hips, and so much unlike the passionate, near hungry kiss shared between them.

This is the comfort they need; it is easy to mistake their comfort and desire for love, but they are too broken, too full of loss, for that right now. It is true they resemble a couple making love, and perhaps they are, but there is something else behind each movement, something that has perhaps been building for a long while now.

It’s a simple bite of her lips, his teeth dragging the lower part of her lip ever so slightly, that makes her come undone first. The rush of hot liquid dripping onto the bedspread, the clench of her around his cock, it overwhelms him but it does not push him over.

He is close though, and he rolls them over so he is underneath her now. She kisses him again, collapsing against him when his thrusts become quicker, his flesh slapping against hers as he seeks his own relief. 

His hands are on her hips, slamming them down on him again and again, and she breaks apart to bury her face in his neck. 

“ _ Gabriel _ ,” she cries softly against his skin.

It is the final push he needs and he spills into her, his thrusts never ceasing as they ride out his orgasm together. 

Only when he is spent, when his seed is deep inside of her, does he carefully remove himself, allowing her to roll off onto the mattress, chest heaving as she stares at the ceiling. 

He does the same, his heart still drumming in his chest. 

“I’m tired,” she whispers, and he turns his head to look at her. 

He understands she doesn’t mean just physically, but emotionally, mentally, though he also understands it is not a conversation for now.

So he reaches over the bed and under the nightstand, pulling another blanket that he wraps around them. He will worry about his comforter - and the consequences of their actions - later.

“Sleep,” he suggests, and she looks at him with those shining blue eyes of hers. “Consider it a problem for tomorrow.”

She moves closer to him, and he hesitates before he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Do not leave me too,” she tells him as her eyes flutter shut. 

He thinks of how long it has been since he’s shared his bed with someone, since he’s been held and loved so tenderly. He thinks of how she will never experience that with the one she truly wants, just like he will never experience it again.

“Not as long as you’ll have me,” he says finally to her.

It is not each other that they want, but it is the closest they will come. 

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, i had an entirely different idea for a fic when i started writing this morning


End file.
